Devil May Get a Ticket
by Backdraft
Summary: ((Now serving Chapter 3)) It doesn't look good for our heroes...then again, when does ever? Plus a "surprise guest!"
1. Sadist

Author's Note/Disclaimer: I don't own Dante or Trish. They're Capcom's, those lucky…anyway, just so you know, the one specific car mentioned by its model name is real. You'll know which one I'm talking about ;o). 

This was supposed to be the happiest day of Dante's life, and he's had very little of them. Short of defeating Mundus and "reuniting" with his family one way or another. In the morning, he would watch the three-hour MuchMusic special, _Sidewalk Santas: The Horrible Truth, _followed by a special on the next Street Fighter movie, to be directed by Ang Lee. After that, he'd have the power to take a few cases before resting for the night in front of a rerun of _Disney's_ _Resident Evil_. However, he'd have to miss the special, and forget about the exclusive interview with the "Crouching Tiger…" director, for today was that dark day that most teenagers had already experienced. And before you ask, no, the VCR has been broken for days, after he disapproved of the ending to _Gladiator_. 

"Dante," Trish's shrill voice pierced through the walls, "today's the day for your driver's test!"

He wished for anything that would end his life right now. A stronger Nightmare unit landing on his head, or a Phantom spewing a pillar of searing souls right through him. If he knew this day would come from living with Trish, he would've asked to turn back time and let Mundus land on him deep in the sewers. He wasn't that lucky though, because they were all dead, or wouldn't return for a long time to come. Until then, he'd have to take this with one breath after the other, and pray to the gods that he'd back in one piece, and Trish in many for putting him up to this. 

After a hearty breakfast of three pounds of scrambled eggs with cheese, a bag of bacon, and piece of toast, Trish continued a smile that started from Dante's consumption as she knew what would come of today's lesson. Following a frightening belch, Dante asked, "I don't see why I need this. I can fly around to places. How else do you think we got to Mallet Island?" "Yeah," Trish laughed, "but what if you wanna' have kids to carry on your legacy, you gotta' take 'em to school in a way that won't involve questioning from the cops." "It'll be okay, Trish," he assured, "I'll just tell 'em that I'm from Jersey." "That excuse can't work forever," she scoffed, "now, are you gassed out from the food?" "Yeah, I hope so," he smiled, holding in the flatulence until they got inside the car, and unleashed his countermeasure. 

He was then shown what type of cars he'd have to choose from, as if he were playing Ridge Racer. The choices were between a brand new DeLorean, a sleek, restored, and ironically named 1970 Street Fighter, and a white Hertz with a large decal of a vivacious brunette with a gothic take on a bikini. As Dante immediately headed towards the third choice, Trish pulled him towards the Street Fighter. He sighed and tried to fight her inhuman grip, but the saddening combination of missing out on the specials and the test itself gave his mother figure (in every way) the upper hand. 

"So how does it feel to get in a car for once," she asked once the vehicle started up. "I've been in cars before," Dante whined, "just never drove one. I hope you wrote your last will and testament last night." "You'll do fine," she said before a hesitant pause, "and I made a tape instead of writing it." 

"Cool. See? You're getting the hang of this world."

"Not quite," she frowned, "I'm still trying to figure out that George Foreman grill. Came close to dying twice." 

Dante left that revelation open, as he stopped at a light. He thought back to see if he had forgotten anything at home. That's when it hit him, as he turned to Trish, "I forgot my permit." "I have it," she chirped as she pulled it out her pocket and placed it in his jacket pocket. He rolled his eyes and faked a smile, as the light turned green, and the street surface began to seem a little different.

"I was out here this morning, and the road wasn't' this rocky," she said in a high pitched confusion. "Oh man, I can sense it happening, already," Dante said apathetically. "What," questioned Trish, as a piece of the road came to life from behind them in the form of a spider. 

To Be Continued… 


	2. Oops

Disclaimer: Capcom owns Trish, Dante, and the spider, believe it or die--I mean, not. Sorry it's a little short, but things aren't too sweet over here, but I'll pull through :0)

Trish didn't want to look in the rear view to see where a sudden roar came from behind them. Dante, didn't either, but as it began to rock violently in the car's tail end, they had to turn around and see what caused the turmoil. 

"What," Dante growled, "That should be dead!"

"Oh, now you're surprised," Trish shot with attitude. 

"Well I expected this, but not from something that should've went up in smoke with the rest of its friends," he replied. 

More rocks tore at the car, but it wasn't the rocks that they were worried about. Nor was the fact that it was readying its powerful, body slamming signature move. No, those were all secondary to a second spider that began to arise from the asphalt right under the car. 

"Tch, that's it," Dante stressed as he got out the car, and went to the spider's front and kicked him in the eyes repeatedly. Ten bone-crunching hits later, the spider fell apart before it could fully form whence it came.

Bewildered, all Dante could say as the car returned to the still rigid terrain, "Well, can't argue with results."

The second he ended the sentence, the other spider landed right in front of him, at the cost of flattening the entire car, possibly with Trish still inside. Of course he was perturbed by her persistent plight for this day to arrive, but to be fatally beaten in one attack was not how he wanted her to be paid in spades. 

Before the beast could attack and fire point blank shots into Dante's face, it forged a confused look on its face and blew up right before him. Blocking all the debris, Dante looked around to see how bad the damage was, and it was as if the creature didn't even exist. 

"Hi," Trish said to the side of him, "miss me?"

"Go away," he said, realizing it was better for her to have died than for her to live and force him into the test. But how can he take a test without a car?

"All right! Looks like I can't take it, now," he screamed in delight, as he prepared to run home in a matter of seconds, now that his Devil Gauge was filled from kicking the spider. 

"You're right," Trish agreed lowly, as she hitched a ride on him as best as she could, without being cut up by his now scaly features. 

It can only be imagined how big the smile was on his face. All Dante could think about was the fact that he was ready to take the day off and rest in his Lay-Z Ass © recliner, and see how many hot bodies he'd count from channel surfing today. Not only that, but he remembered that he had a date to be ready for, with an old high school friend named Ada Wong, who just recently moved into town. He even remembered the day ever so clearly, from the odd packages that were marked **PROPERTY OF U.S. MILITRY**, even down to her two flashy sports cars, which filled the void after her old one was destroyed by….

__

Oh sh*t, Dante said in mind, as he remembered the two other cars that lied in wait for him at home. He did his best to quickly turn away and make sure Trish didn't see them, thus triggering her memory, and destroying all his chances for freedom. 

It was too late. 

****

YOU LOSE. CONTINUE?

Yes ß à **No**


	3. When all of a sudden

Author's Note: This is a warning of temporary OOC for our dear friends, whom the only one I lay claim to is the cop. Everyone else belongs to Capcom…bastards. :op

"You're not gonna' make me do it!"

"Yes I will," Trish yelled into his ears, while using them as a makeshift steering wheel to turn him back home. 

Dante struggled as best as he could to avoid at least a crash landing. It couldn't be helped, as Trish jumped off him just in time from Dante's head first landing into the white Hertz. Without any sign of damage, he looked where his face dented, which was right in the area of the decal's chest. 

"That was almost too convenient," he said with a feeling of turning chibi. 

Trish walked from behind him and laughed. 

"You know what's best about that," she asked. 

"What," he sighed.

Her laugher couldn't be held any longer. "You're not _hurt_, though you ran into a _Hertz!_"

It was demonic instinct that forced Dante's foot into her stomach because of the horrible jape, and it was only then that he laughed out loud, before Trish struck back with an immediate punch in his clavicle. Making a funny noise, he was ready to swing once more, had it not been for the intervention of a police officer that looked disturbingly like a Ring Wraith, only it had sunglasses and spiky blonde hair.

"Mr. Sparda," the scary cop began, "I'm issuing you this for flying in a No Fly Zone."

Dante went nuts after seeing the ticket. 

"What!? Since when?"

"Since forever, sir," the cop answered with a frightening smile.

Without any hesitation, Dante tore the paper up in front of him and threw what was left in his hands in his face. 

"Screw you, man," he exclaimed, "I've lived here longer than you've been a freakin' meter maid, and there's never been a charge for that! You're not even a real cop! F-ck you, homes!" 

"Son," the cop said as he took off his sunglasses, revealing his red eyes, "you don't wanna' mess with the law. I will bite yo' ass."

"Oh, that's what up, then," Dante said, getting ready to throw down, until Trish steeped in between the two.

"Why can't you settle this in court," she asked, "you have enough money to pay for it."

"We would settle it if you got out our way," Dante yelled, "we're trying to solve this through grass roots means!"

"You have that wrong, dude," she contested.

"No," Dante replied, "the winner buries the loser six feet under grass and roots!"

"Ai'ing, that's gangsta'," the cop laughed. 

"It's not gangsta', it's Jersey," he corrected violently.

"Tch, not again," Trish scoffed and walked away. 

From this point on, it was a complete reenactment of any battle in a well done fighting game. The details will be sparred, since most of them might be used towards the other DMC fan fic I'm writing (shameless plug), but all that's needed to be known is that Dante lost. He was on the floor in a fetal position, as the cop kicked dust and threw a hat on Dante's face, and walked away with a laugh of iniquity. 

"See you in court," he said, laughing more violently into the darkness. 

Once Dante regained his vision, he looked around and questioned quite understandably. 

"How the hell is it night so quick?"

"That's how long you were fighting," Trish said, handing him some Kentucky Fried Phantom she ordered for dinner at 6 PM, and it was now Midnight. "Now you've done it, you dummy!"

She bopped him on the head with the golf club. 

"Ow, he replied, sneaking her in the jaw 'cause her being a half demon, she can take it. As for his excuse for hitting her, being a half demon, because he could. And he was born in Jersey, and they don't take sh-t from anyone. 

The next morning began by the rapping at their door of, what Dante feared to be, a client. He knew it was time to prepare for the court hearing, and he knew that he'd need some extra cash in case something even more screwed up happened, but instead, Dante was ready to bite the bullet from whichever way it would come. He just hoped it wasn't coming from the doorway. 

Trish, on the other hand, had Dante's suit neatly pressed and ready to wear, while she had her own casual outfit prepared. As she heard the door being beaten further and louder, a familiar aura came from it. Trish raised her brow in curiosity, as she walked to the door and hoped it wasn't what it felt to be. With hesitant demeanor, she slowly opened it and saw whom it was, bearing frightening resemblance to an old friend. 

"Trish," Dante said sluggishly as walked out his room like a Marionette, "who is that?" 

Dante's eyes came into full focus, and saw the man wearing a brown three-piece suit that looked like Dante's, once it was on him, of course. His skin was stone white, as was the man's beard and hair. With fiery colored eyes and a welcome, yet sinister smile, the man introduced himself in a deep, southern accent, resembling a known cartoon character.

"How y'all doin' this fine mornin'," he asked.

Trish answered, possibly out of fear, "We're…okay."

"I heard y'all were engaged with a series of legal, I say, legal problems." 

"Okay, how do you know that, and who are you," Dante said now fully awake.

"Both questions are simple to answer at once, son," the stony man replied with confidence, "the name's William K. Mundus, Esquire. I'll be representing you this fine day." 

"Aw f*ck me," Dante answered, and walked back to his room. 

To be continued…or even concluded!


End file.
